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WC Parent, Open Letter to Provost DiQuinzio on “Foreigner” Cancellation

November 13, 2019 by Spy Desk 4 Comments

I am writing to express my outrage at the cancellation of the SCE production of The Foreigner.

I hold a Ph.D. in International Relations, with a focus on creative approaches to conflict resolution. My research centers on the use of theater in societies in and post conflict. I have worked in Northern Ireland and the Middle East, with groups that use performance and storytelling to facilitate discussions of difficult and painful topics across societal divides.

The claim in your November 8th email to parents that “this decision does not diminish the months of hard work, collaboration, emotion, and thoughtfulness that students invested in the production—nor does it lessen all that they have learned through those efforts” is a claim blatantly without merit. Those students are devastated, and while they have certainly learned something from the experience, I doubt it is the lesson you had in mind. The student whose thesis this is has had what was supposed to be the culmination of her college career dismissed, and your refusal to allow the performance – and the planned post-show panel discussion – to go ahead robbed both the project’s participants and the wider community of a chance to openly discuss controversial topics. You missed the broader teaching moment, and furthermore opened up the students involved to accusations of racism which, because the community has not seen the play, they have no way to refute.

The College website states that the College’s enduring values are “critical thinking, effective communication, and moral courage” and claim that these values “move the world”. Setting aside the concept of moral courage, which is a highly subjective claim, this decision has removed the possibility of critical thought and assessment and eliminated the possibility of effective communication by making the conversation about rumors rather than actualities. You have denied the community the agency to make up their own minds and to participate in informed discourse. Whatever your intentions, this was an act of censorship.

While you may be under the illusion that the decision was for the good of the community (isn’t that always where censorship starts?), you should think very carefully about where this path leads. What other projects will you cancel or suppress because the work is upsetting or uncomfortable to members of the community? What sort of education are you providing when you remove the choice to engage in debate or an exchange of ideas?

It is a supreme irony that your decision to cancel this production came a scant week after former President Obama’s speech in Chicago cited the dangers of “call-out culture” and the social media practice of “cancelling” unpopular or controversial views. However well-intentioned your decision might have been, however much you feel it may have been made with an eye towards prioritizing inclusiveness and articulating ones perspective with an effort towards “finding greater understanding, effecting positive change, and strengthening communication among all of our students, staff, and faculty”, your actions have done the opposite.

By canceling both the performance and the post-show panel discussion you have denied the majority of the community the opportunity to articulate – or even form – their own perspectives. How can a community develop greater understanding and positive change if there is no informed debate?

I am fully aware of the challenges involved in university teaching in the 21st century, with the confluence of identity politics and the need for cultural sensitivity. In this instance you and, by extension, the College have failed in your primary responsibility – namely, to educate. There are many ways that this could have become a truly transformative teaching moment. You could have included the students who comprised the cast and crew in the conversation prior to making the decision to cancel the performance. You could have challenged the director and her design team to come up with a creative costuming work-around for the Klan’s white robes, or suggested an adaptation of the play to reframe the villains of the piece. And you could have invited the students involved in both the production and the complaint to meet in a mediated environment to share their perspectives in person, an exercise which would have had a chance of achieving the greater understanding and strengthened communication towards which your email claims you strive.

This is my challenge to you: commit to a campus-wide forum to address what has happened and to work on the divisions in the college community that this experience has brought to light. Draw on the creativity and teaching excellence available to you and devise a way to foster actual communication around difficult topics. Engage the entire college community in this endeavor. Do not look to the students involved in the play to lead this, this is a job for the faculty and staff. Effecting real change takes hard work and imagination and commitment and time. It is much easier to cancel a performance and hope that the ensuing uproar dies down. You now have a chance to transform an experience that has been deeply painful and troubling for many members of the immediate and extended college community, the opportunity to create something positive from a debacle. I hope, for the sake of the college community, and for the sakes of the communities into which your students will enter upon graduation, that you rise to this occasion. You have a chance to “move the world”. Take it.

If, on the other hand, the College truly intends to go down the path of suppression and summarily silence members of the community, it is imperative that you clarify that position on your website and in the information provided to prospective students. Students who are uncomfortable with the specter of censorship and upset by the threat of having their intellectual freedoms curtailed should be able to make an informed decision when choosing an institution of higher education.

Sincerely,

Talya Leodari

Talya Leodari holds a Ph.D. in Politics and an M.A. in International Relations from Newcastle University (U.K.) and a B.A. in American Studies from Bryn Mawr College. She is currently the Director of Programming & Outreach for The Great Barrington Libraries in Barrington, Massachusetts.

WC President Landgraf Responds to Cancellation of The Foreigner

November 12, 2019 by Letter to Editor 11 Comments

Dear Campus Community,

Last Friday, we announced a decision to cancel two scheduled public performances of “The Foreigner.” This play—written in the 1980s and frequently produced at educational and professional institutions across the country—centers on a group of people who feel “othered” by society in various ways, including premarital pregnancy, neurological differences, and age. Over the course of the play, these individuals build a community together through listening, learning and, humor, but their bond is threatened by the xenophobic anger and self-proclaimed entitlement of two other characters. In the climax of the play, the community of disenfranchised protagonists rises up to easily defeat the bigoted antagonists (who reveal themselves as members of the KKK). It is through the portrayal and defeat of these villainous characters that the play conveys its message about the evils of xenophobia, the dangers of “othering,” and the importance of empathy.

We made the decision to cancel the performances after listening to members of our campus community who told us that they were deeply hurt and affronted by the existence and portrayal of characters associated with the KKK—even though these characters are clearly portrayed as villains and are easily vanquished by the play’s protagonists. Our intent in cancelling the production was to prevent further harm to members of our community who already feel marginalized. However, the decision to cancel the play has been interpreted by some as a form of censorship on the part of the College. Censorship is anathema to the core values of Washington College, and this was never our intent.

It is our job, as a liberal arts institution, to create a space where difficult issues can be faced head-on and thoughtfully discussed. The production and subsequent cancellation of this play have raised important questions about how we, as an institution, choose, contextualize, and discuss potentially controversial material—on our stages, in our classrooms, and beyond. To that end, we are currently discussing how we can best present the story and message of this play in a way that enables the campus community to have a productive, thoughtful conversation. We will work with all of the relevant student groups, staff, faculty, alumni, and Board of Visitors and Governors to determine the best way to accomplish this and to find the most constructive path forward.

—Kurt

“Censorship and Abuse of Power” — WC Parent Decries Foreigner Cancellation

November 12, 2019 by Spy Desk 4 Comments

Provost DiQuinzio,
Dean Feyerherm;

Your outrageous decision to cancel the senior capstone production of the award-winning play ‘The Foreigner” at the very moment that the students were about to perform the dress rehearsal was rash, ill-justified and shameful, bringing dishonor to yourselves and to the academic institution that you represent. I am writing to you, and copying the President of the College and the Chair of the Board of Visitors & Governors, to demand a public apology to the theater students and faculty who have been traumatized and victimized by your actions.

Your November 8, 2019 email to parents and the all-campus email that preceded it only compounded your error and illustrate that your actions were made in ignorance and in haste. You were unfamiliar with the play and cannot have taken the time to read and discuss it with those in the theater department who have, or to understand the way that the issues it raises about bigotry and intolerance are addressed in this production. You have now joined a single institution – a high school in Sioux Falls, South Dakota – in censoring and cancelling production of Larry Shue’s award-winning play, which continues to win acclaim for its numerous revivals since its Off-Broadway debut in November 1984.

Your glib statement that parents should understand your decision in the larger context of an ongoing and evolving effort “to be a community that prioritizes inclusiveness and the ability to articulate one’s perspective with an effort toward finding greater understanding, effecting positive change, and strengthening communication among all of our students, staff, and faculty” is belied by your cowardice and refusal to recognize this as precisely the kind of teaching moment that could have created the “brave space” that would advance those ideals. Instead, you gutted a segment of your community – my daughter among them – and made them targets of uninformed accusations of racism from those who objected to the play and who now associate them with racist ideas simply for being part of this manifestly not racist production. You privileged “Callout Culture” and denied members of your community the opportunity to constructively engage with difficult or uncomfortable ideas. Shame on you!

Your assertion that your act of censorship “does not diminish the months of hard work, collaboration, emotion, and thoughtfulness that students invested in the production—nor does it lessen all that they have learned through those efforts” is grossly disingenuous. What they have learned may indeed be valuable, but it is not the sort of lesson that a responsible institution of higher learning would seek to engender. They have learned that their voices do not matter, for they were not among the “members of the student community” with whom you claim to have consulted. They have learned that they may be subject to the whim of arbitrary and capricious authority. They have learned that their investment in a college-sanctioned theater production can be undone whenever a community voice objects to any of its content. They have learned that they will not be protected from the backlash that your decision has empowered.

You compelled your faculty colleagues to cancel the play while the students and director were on stage for the dress rehearsal, and stood silently watching their grief and distress. You did nothing to comfort them. You did nothing to address their pain. Your only concession was to allow a closed performance of the dress rehearsal, and neither of you congratulated them on their performance. You did not even offer to come and help them strike the set. You did nothing to anticipate or ameliorate the trauma that you have caused. Your belated meeting with the director and cast on Saturday only elicited an apology from you when they told you they needed one.

I call it cowardice. I call it cruel. I call it censorship and abuse of power. I call it intellectually dishonest and a mockery of the educational and community values you cite and that Washington College purports to espouse. This is your mess to clean up. Do not sweep it under the rug. Own what you have done and apologize publicly for the unintended but undeniable harm you have caused.

Timothy B. Abbott

CC: Chair Stephen T. Golding
President Kurt Landgraf

Angels Among Us by Jamie Kirkpatrick

November 12, 2019 by Jamie Kirkpatrick 2 Comments

Two days ago, I fell into a manhole. I never saw it coming but it must have seen me because as soon as my foot hit the unsecured cover, it opened wide its maw and in I tumbled. Stunned, shocked, scared: “My leg!” I screamed; I thought one was broken, maybe both. My torso lay above ground, my legs were suspended below. The pain was intense but I managed to pull my lower half out of the hole and waited for the bees to stop stinging me. I turned my head and saw a face I didn’t recognize—an African-American man with a beard and wearing a red flannel shirt was kneeling next to me. He had soft brown eyes, a quiet voice, a calm, reassuring presence. “Did you hit your head? Is your back ok? Can you move?” he asked. I thought I could so he helped me roll over, then gently helped me to my feet. I leaned into him, our eyes locked. I could stand; my legs could bear my weight. For the first time that morning, but not for the last, I thought to myself, “There are angels among us.”

I was surrounded by friends: kind, worried, solicitous. “Should I call 911?” “Should we call an ambulance?” “Notify the police.” I could feel blood running down both legs and now those bees were really starting to sting but I was pretty sure nothing was broken. I felt faint but the good Samaritan in the red flannel shirt was gone. I remember looking around and seeing him in a car across the street with his family watching me. I gave him a thumbs up and whispered thank you before he drove away. I never saw him again.

We had been visiting my brother and sister-in-law in Rehoboth and my wife helped me hobble back to their home. She had me stand in a bathtub and helped me remove my pants, socks, and shoes. There were multiple messy cuts and abrasions as well as a large hematoma above my left shin. Gently, she hosed my legs with warm water and I watched ribbons of blood snake away down the drain. I took deep breaths. The bees really started to sting again when she poured hydrogen peroxide on my wounds. She gently daubed them clean, slathered on an antiseptic ointment, and wrapped them in gauze. I wasn’t scared anymore and for the second time that day, I knew there were angels among us.

There were a few people waiting in the ER when I limped in. I told the duty nurse that I had fallen into a manhole. She looked at me for a long moment, then asked for my name and date of birth. I fumbled in my wallet for insurance cards but she didn’t need them, just my driver’s license. She fixed a band around my wrist and told me to take a seat. It was just another Sunday in the ER but I thought I glimpsed another one of the angels among us.

When you’re in pain, waiting is hard, but pretty soon, another nurse called me into the triage room and checked my vital signs. She laughed when I told her I had fallen into a manhole, but she was both amazed and sympathetic. She made me feel better, even laugh. One more angel among us.

Some more waiting, but then I was admitted to a bay in the ER. A doctor came in, weary but gentle and kind. He helped undress me and gave a low whistle when he saw the extent of my wounds. He asked me to wiggle my toes and smiled when I could. He examined the large hematoma over my tibia and ordered a precautionary X-Ray. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, “but let’s make sure.” He was optimistic and he made my wife and me feel the same way. Yet another angel among us.

A technician with a portable X-Ray machine appeared and took four images of my left leg. She was gentle and professional. She told us the doctor would be able to read the X-Ray in three minutes and wished me well. I could tell she meant it and then she disappeared, one more angel among us.

In a blink, the doctor was back with us. The X-Ray was negative. He put his hand on my shoulder and told me I would be fine. He would send in a nurse to clean and redress the wounds and give me a tetanus shot “just to be safe.” Before he left to see another patient, we thanked him. He said it was his third Sunday shift in a row, but that was fine. Next week, he was taking his family to visit Japan.

Another nurse came in right away and began to clean and disinfect my wounds, She was impressed by my wife’s field ministrations. Her name was Jillian and she was a happy young woman who knew what she was doing. When she was finished, she rolled me onto my side and administered a tetanus shot in my behind. “There,” she said. “You’re free to go.” Another angel among us.

I was stiff and sore, too banged up for a long drive back to the Eastern Shore so we changed plans and returned to my brother and sister-in-law’s home. They were happy to have us back. I rested for an hour, then joined family and friends for dinner, leg iced and elevated, and oh-so-grateful to be whole and surrounded by people who loved me. A whole band of angels.

Our nation is divided, angry, scared, and confused. We seem to have fallen into a manhole. But believe me: there are scores of angels among us.

Yesterday was Veterans Day. I woke up thankful for all the sacrifices made on our behalf by all the veteran angels among us.

There are a million angels among us. Sometimes, you just have to fall into a manhole to see them.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer with homes in Chestertown and Bethesda. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy magazine. “A Place to Stand,” a book of photographs and essays about Landon School, was published by the Chester River Press in 2015. A collection of his essays titled “Musing Right Along” was published in May 2017; a second volume of Musings entitled “I’ll Be Right Back” was released in June 2018. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.com

Out and About (Sort of): Can You Spare a Hello? By Howard Freedlander

November 11, 2019 by Howard Freedlander Leave a Comment

It may be a family member. It may be a friend. It may be a co-worker. It may be a neighbor.

It may be a memory.

Like most national holidays, Veterans Day—the 11th of November—passes by quickly. Town, cities and veterans’ organizations will pay homage. American flags will seem more prevalent. Patriotism will be on display.

Though some may discourage saying “thank you” to a veteran for fear of acknowledging a special class of people, sincere gratitude is always appreciated. It’s a form of wholesome human interaction. It means something to the speaker, a way of connecting to an experience with which you may be unfamiliar.

Veterans deserve recognition. They served our nation, often under adverse conditions. They endured cold, wet and hot weather—and sometimes hostile enemy fire—far from home. They left loved ones and friends for deployments to parts of the world formerly unknown to them.

Many of my friends served in combat zones. Unless prompted, they typically are reluctant to discuss their experiences. Some witnessed the death of wartime comrades. Some wonder why they survived, and others didn’t return home to live to old age.

Some bemoan war.

To follow my own instincts, I plan to call a veteran or two. While I may not express thanks, I will acknowledge their service. I will ask questions. I will probe their feelings and memories, carefully, of course. I will acknowledge their sacrifice of familiar comfort.

I’ve known veterans my entire life. I always sensed an undeniable pride, a profound sense of accomplishment. Though they always talked about their children, weddings and births, they rarely failed to mention their military service. It simply didn’t matter how much they had achieved in life in terms of material success or accumulation of power; they usually found reason to talk about their life as a member of the uniformed services.

Their pride was always close to the surface.

I’ve always been interested, in my avid reading of obituaries, to note how almost unfailingly they mention a person’s military service, whether the deceased was a waterman, shop owner or corporate executive. Service to country matters to veterans and their families.

As it should.

We Americans might wish we didn’t have veterans. That peace and tranquility permeated our fractious world. The goal is noble. Unfortunately, history has proved it’s unattainable. Best intentions run opposite to the human condition.

War is inevitable.

War is grueling and gruesome.

War hardens your soul. It may be harder to cry and show emotion.

Thank God our country has been blessed with men and women willing to serve and families willing to be supportive.

So, today, take a few moments to speak with a veteran. Respect and honor their service. They are peacemakers.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

The Story of Olive Lucas (Part Five and Epilogue) by Mary Robinson

November 10, 2019 by Mary Robinson 2 Comments

Part 5 – Burma Journal – April 1945 to October 1945

April 1945

Winter is not over and spring is not yet here. The severe weather conditions in our “hospital in the sky” are beginning to wear on all of us. The good news is that I am in the next group granted rest leave. Sylvia Lasser is a nurse who just returned from leave in Darjeeling, India. While on leave, she stayed at Hotel Mount Everest. She told us about spending days playing tennis, horseback riding, and going to dances with American and Canadian flyers based in the area. I have never played tennis or ridden a horse, but I can dance. I can’t wait to try all three. Last week we were honored by a visit from the Theater Surgeon. We were all proud to learn that he was pleased with the work we were doing and the progress we have made.

Family photo of Olive with her parents at their 50th wedding anniversary. Front row, left to right, are Gladys, Marguerite, Wilbert, Ethel, Kenneth, Olive, and Marian. Front row, left to right, are John and Mary Lucas.

May 1945

My rest leave was wonderful and I enjoyed all of it. But, now I am back at the 335th and up to my elbows in-patient care. It seems like the change of seasons has resulted in more patients with more serious issues. We have a patient with scrub typhus. I don’t think I have ever seen a patient who was sicker than this soldier. He is on the mend and expected to survive. I am just grateful that we are able to keep him isolated enough that it has not spread through the wards. The visit from the Surgeon General has resulted in each of the nurses at the 335th being promoted to 1st Lieutenant. We believe our promotions are well deserved.

July 1945

Our patient census has dropped significantly over the summer. With the patient census this low, it makes me concerned about the rest of our tour here. We are living in harsh conditions and that is okay when we are busy doing what we are trained to do, but the thought of slow times with little work is very worrisome. My roommate, however, assures me that with our daily load of injuries from construction of Ledo Road we will surely be busy for many more months. We have been told that the goal for the Ledo Road is to connect India, China, and Burma and allow supplies to move more quickly to China where they are needed for the fight against Japan. That being the case, she may be right in her prediction.

September 1945

Word has come down that we are beginning the inactivation of the 335th Station Hospital.

Our job is no longer caring for patients, our job is now to take apart the hospital we put together just a year ago. At least this will keep us busy now that our patients have been moved on to their next medical facility. We are directed to inventory, box up, and label all hospital equipment and medical supplies. Rumor has it that some of the hospitals in other areas have done that huge job of packing up only to have those boxes and crates of supplies dumped in the ocean. Apparently, it would cost too much to ship it all back to the States. I hope the rumors are wrong, all of these supplies would be greatly appreciated by the local hospitals here in Burma, as well as in India.

Packing is not the only thing occupying our time, thoughts of home are filling our days. Going home, there is so much to consider. I will be so glad to be back home, glad to see my family again, glad to resume my life and career back in New York. This past year has been such a challenge, sometimes a little frightening, but I don’t know that I have ever learned so much in such a short period of time.

I never imagined that I would be a part of a group where I would have the chance to work with people from all over the world. Working as a team, being a valued member of the team, and being recognized for my particular skills has given me renewed confidence in my own abilities. One thing for sure, I intend to take advantage of the GI Bill to get my graduate degree. I am sure I will continue in nursing and I believe my Army experience has made me a much better nurse and that should make me qualified for jobs that will ensure career success, at least I hope so.

October 1, 1945 – 335th Station Hospital is inactivated. The personnel will leave from Karachi, India by ship, the General Morton. We expect to arrive in New York Port of Embarkation by Oct 23, 1945.

LEDO ROAD

Construction began in 1942 with 15,000 American troop members, 60% being African American. Along with the Black troop members, another 35,000 soldiers consisting of Indian, Chinese, and Burmese nationals, assisted in the construction of the road. The goal was to have the road begin in Ledo, India, cross over the Patkai Mountains (where passes were as high as 4,500 feet) and end at Kunming, China. By 1944, the road stretched 1,726 kilometers (1,072 miles), with 1,033 kilometers (642 mi) in Burma, 632 kilometers (393 mi) in China, and the remainder in India.

Epilogue

Olive was discharged from the Army Nurse Corps in 1945. After a visit home to see her family, she returned to New York and resumed her nursing career. She took advantage of the G.I. Bill and in 1949 she received her Bachelor of Science in Nursing at the age of forty-one and in 1951 she received her Master’s in Nursing Education at the age of forty-three, both degrees were from New York University.

Olive in her older years

Newspaper articles about her promotions over the years make it clear that she was successful in her nursing career. In May 1949, Olive is mentioned in a Column called “Bill Chase, Around Town” that ran in “New York Age Newspaper” on May 14, 1949. The columnist relates his story of Olive, “I suppose I have more than the usual right to be proud of the fact that Olive Lucas who holds a BS in public health was made assistant last Friday to the supervisor of nurses at Welfare Island Dispensary. You see Olive was my nurse in Harlem Hospital back in 1933 when I was run over and almost killed by a truck because I was foolish enough to go in for the roller-skating craze then in vogue.”

On Nov 20, 1954 the ‘New York Age Defender Newspaper” ran a story about Olive,“Harlem-Trained Nurse Gets City Hospital Job.” The story explains that Olive had just been named the first Negro Nurse to take over the Nurse Coordinator and Home Care department at City Hospital on Welfare Island on November 16, 1954. It is interesting to read how women are portrayed in newspaper articles of that time (see below).

After her retirement, Olive was active in the National Association of Colored Graduate Nurses.

Apparently, she was also very active in fighting city hall. This was a time of Urban Renewal projects in major cities. Her ride on the bus to city hall often involved conversations with other riders to let them know they needed to fight to prevent many of the neighborhood buildings being torn down in the name of progress.

Olive returned to her hometown of Meadville, PA after having a stroke. She recovered well from the stroke thanks to the care from her family. She spent her final years at Wesbury United Methodist Community, along with her brother, my dad Kenneth Lucas. Olive took an active part in the community and she especially enjoyed the music programs.

Olive was born on Halloween in 1908., The last year of her life she spent looking forward to her 100th birthday party. Sadly, she died 9 days shy of her 100th birthday. Her funeral was held on Halloween 2008. Her family and friends sang Happy Birthday and passed out bags of her favorite candy. I am sure Olive would have loved it.

Notes – April 1945 – Darjeeling Rest Leave – G.I. Nightingales, by Barbara Brooks Tomblin, pg. 163

May 1945 – Scrub Typhus – Army Nurse Corps History – Draft, v.10, 1987, pg. XV-10 – Promotions – Historical Report, Office of Surgeon, Headquarters, 30 July 1945, pg. 8

July 1945 – Ledo Road – http://www.pacificatrocities.org/blog/black-history-month-recognizing-african-american-efforts-in-building-the-ledo-road

Sept 1945 -Inactivation of 335th – Unit citation and Campaign Participation Credit Register, Dept. of the Army, Washington, DC 6 July 1961– Dumping Supplies – No Time for Fear, Diane Burke Fessler, pg. 250

Snapshots Of Daily Life: Tides by George Merrill

November 10, 2019 by George R. Merrill 1 Comment

“The Trump Administration formally notified the United Nations on Monday that it would withdraw the United States from the Paris Agreement on Climate Change, leaving global climate diplomats to plot away forward without the cooperation of the world’s largest economy.” New York Times, November 4th, 2019

Not long ago I looked at the weather report. I saw an alert had been issued by the weather service that coastal flooding was imminent.

The news alarmed me. I went to the window to see how the tides were affecting the shoreline of my property. We are close to the water. The signs were ominous. The tide had already topped the edges of the shoreline and was reaching much higher than normal. It was encroaching on the lawn, creeping up to the house. When I looked at the tide tables I discovered that flood tide would be at four o’clock. It was only noon. The water continued to rise. All I could do was watch. My lawn was newly replanted only days before. Would it survive an inundation of brackish water?

Inordinately high tides occur regularly around the Chesapeake. They’ve become higher now and are flooding more small towns and lowlands. I had accepted this as a way of life here on the shore. This time, however, with my newly planted lawn, the stakes were higher. It’s strange how something as critical to my survival as the issue of global warming is, can seem so remote until it creeps up on my front lawn. I don’t “get it” easily.

Over the last few years I have had a dream, like a vision. Recently it’s grown more vivid. It’s not the nocturnal sort dream or vision, but the kind of dream that hope inspires. It’s a daydream of sorts, but not an idle one. I cling to it.

This dream returns again and again and I pray about it. Things happen in the natural world around me that seem so mindless and destructive and I feel sad. I pray more fervently that the dream I have will come true.

I dream that one day our abuses of the environment (and of each other) will finally create such a backlash that deniability of the abuses will be out of the question – no more equivocations. This time what happens will be immediate to us, closer than the Arctic’s cascading ice shelves falling into the sea thousands of miles away or the chemical laden streams that catch fire as if they were heralding an apocalypse.

In those days, I dream that we will have as the director of the Environmental Protection Agency a man or woman who actually loves the natural world, the kind of a person suggested in the Genesis myth.

God, having created the world thinks his creation is good, “very good.” God has a stake in its future according to Genesis. He appoints someone he trusts to look after it. This is a sacred trust. “The Lord God took Adam (human kind) and placed him in the garden of Eden to tend and to keep it.”

What does it look like to love the natural world, to tend it and to keep it, and I would add, to be its voice, its advocate? I believe it looks something like naturalist, W. H. Hudson’s tender description of a day in late April when he came upon “a shallow lakelet or pond five or six acres in extent which I had discovered some weeks before hidden in a depression in the land among luxuriant furze (an evergreen shrub with flowers), bramble, and blackthorn bushes.”

He then writes, “I sat on a branch and rested for a long time enjoying the sight of that rare unexpected loveliness. Two or three warblers we’re flitting about among the alder leaves within a few feet of my head and a dozen at least we’re singing within a few feet of my head. I listen again to the birds then let my eyes rest on the expense of red and cream-colored spikes before me, then on the masses of flame colored furze beyond. This springtime verdure and bloom, this fragrance of the furze, the infinite blue of Heaven, the bell like double note of my little feathered neighbors and the alder trees; surely this is enough to satisfy my heart.”

This new “Adam,” this Agency Director, as I imagine him or her, would have this same passionate love of the earth in their hearts, and could not be driven from their task by power brokers. This director will be wise in the matters of the material world. This person would have feet on the ground (earth, not macadam) and an eye on the sky (weather, not high-rises); they would passionately love the natural with the fervor Mr. Hudson had. Love like that may save us and heal our planet

This director will have a realistic grasp of the needs of an industrial society in which she lives. He will, like Solomon, do justice. He will weigh the reasonable requirements of industrial production and still advocate for the earth. He or she will know that the natural world is not a commodity just to be bought, sold, and traded; this new Adam understands the natural world as a sacred trust, a planet to love, tend and care for.

Too Idealistic? Too Visionary? I sure hope so. That’s precisely the missing piece in managing our present environmental realities. Currently, I see no vision, no ideals, just expediency and greed.

Since that day of the flood advisories two more extremely high tides came and went. The weather finally grew cooler and with it returned intense blue skies, filled with gray-bellied white clouds and a brisk northwest wind of about forty knots. The northwest winds around here drive the tides out, making the ebbs unnaturally low. The tides ebbed and flooded, and for a while I felt safe. The feeling is illusory.

My world, the one in which I once thought tides were predictable and would remain always within bounds, had returned but only briefly. The world of my yesterday is long gone, and even higher tides will return as they must, because they are responding in the only ways they can to the deaf ears on which their warnings have fallen.

“Listen to the earth and it will teach you,” Job instructs us. Few listen.

Editorial: Sultana Downrigging Upgrades Deliver Smashing Success

November 7, 2019 by The Chestertown Spy 1 Comment

Photo by Jamie Kirkpatrick

It would be safe to say that the Chestertown Spy staff were not the only ones worried about the dramatic changes the Sultana Education Foundation was making for its beloved Downrigging festival this year.

Over 18 years, the Downrigging has become the one event, for many, that successfully captured the true essence of Chestertown’s ethos with its unique blend of history, culture, scholarship, and sense of fun. And while The Spy understood the Sultana’s thinking that Downrigging had to evolve, there was an unspoken fear that this effort to upgrade and expand its programming, including the formal addition of dozens of bluegrass performances, would radically and permanently change the tone and climate of this town’s beloved fall weekend.

There was good reason for that anxiety. Sultana has been the pride and joy of Chestertown since 1997. Beyond pursuing its mission of connecting “people to the Chesapeake Bay’s history, ecology, and culture,” it has also evolved into being intertwined with the best elements of Chestertown itself; a subtle, sophisticated community proud of its heritage and intellectual curiosity.

So when we heard over the summer that the Sultana’s leadership had decided to shake things up for the 2019 Downrigging, it was sometimes hard to suppress the thought that while the board and staff motives were understandable, a Downrigging 2.0 concept was messing with success.

It is human nature to protect the things we love, and the idea of Downrigging morphing into a music festival was seen as a perilous proposition. While there was considerable sympathy with the fact that Sultana has lost money on this fantastic and expensive weekend of nautical programming since 2001, there were countless examples of town festivals losing their identity and purpose in their attempt to become more “hip” to expand attendance.

Undoubtedly, Sultana leaders also knew there was an inherent risk in offering a new Downrigging experience. Drew McMullen, president of the organization, along with its board members, had built this successful organization by being known for a “steady Eddie” culture, and a mature approach to change. The shift for Downrigging 2019 was seen as a bit out of character.

But like almost everything the Sultana has done since its inception, the new and improved Downrigging was a smashing success. Not only did it keep its cultural foundation in tack, but the addition of bluegrass also led to record-breaking attendance last weekend. Over 3,000 flocked to the new performance village, downtown retailers saw unprecedented traffic in their shops, restaurants and bars were full, and visitors were left amazed by the beauty of the new Cerino Center at the Chestertown Marina.

The take-home message after this remarkable weekend is two-fold. One is that taking this kind of risk pays off. The second is the reminder that never second guess the Sultana Education Foundation.

The Spy

In an Instant by Angela Rieck

November 7, 2019 by Angela Rieck 1 Comment

Last week I received a daytime call from my daughter, her beautiful smile flashed on my iphone. Immediately I knew there was a problem, my daughter is too busy to call me during working hours. I was prepared for the worst.

But it wasn’t my daughter. In a crowded room that sounded like a hospital, a woman informed me that she was using my daughter’s phone because my daughter was hurt and in the emergency room. That initiated a panicked sequence of the caller asking me to talk louder and me screaming for more information. Frustrated, the caller hung up.

Frantic, I called back, but it went to voicemail.

I texted my daughter, no response.

I sent my daughter an email, the minutes ticked by while I refreshed an empty inbox.

In that instant, I realized that I had no way to find my NYC-based daughter. I didn’t know her work colleagues and her business didn’t have a receptionist. Employees used their own cell phones.

I searched her company’s website and LinkedIn for an HR contact. I found the cell phone for an HR rep and called her.

It went to voicemail.

I found an HR email address and sent an email labeled EMERGENCY, URGENT, Help—asking them to confirm that my daughter was at work.

Within 10 minutes, my daughter called. She had been in a meeting away from her cell phone or computer.

It was a curious malicious or spoofing call. The caller didn’t ask for money or information. If she was trying to record my voice, she would have only recorded screaming and I do not use voice recognition features.

Most frightening was that the caller knew to ghost my daughter’s phone even though we have a different last name.

I mentioned this to my aunt who had recently received a call from her “grandson” saying that he was hurt and needed money. My aunt is nobody’s fool, so she told the caller to hang up. She called her confused grandson back. He was fine. Another malicious call.

I have a very cautious friend who was spoofed by an “Apple Tech rep” informing her that a virus had invaded her Apple computer and they were tasked with removing it. The “rep” only needed some personal information…in time she realized that it was a spoofing call.

My financial advisor is now notified when a client requests a suspicious wire transfer. He calls the client and talks him through the request, typically a malicious call. He has saved his clients thousands of dollars.

The FCC says that unfortunately these malicious and spoofing calls will only get worse. VoIP calls are inexpensive and there is virtually no accountability, many are generated overseas.

We all get them.

I personally have been informed that my credit card has been compromised, that the IRS has put a lien against my property and my personal favorite, that the sheriff is coming to arrest for me an outstanding warrant. Think about it. Why would the sheriff call to make sure that I was home before he comes to arrest me?

My call was taken to another level because the spoofer knew both our numbers and our relationship.

The data was probably obtained from hacking my cellphone supplier’s website (since my daughter’s cell phone is on my plan). Verizon confirmed me that the information most likely came from a hack of their site but insisted that only my account had been hacked.

So far, I only lost a ½ hour of panic. But I know that others have lost more…so here is some advice I learned from the Verizon fraud representative.

If you get a call saying that a child or grandchild needs money, hang up and call back.

Unless you can personally verify the information, do not send money and do not give up identification codes.

My daughter was embarrassed because her office went crazy checking on her to make sure that she was okay.

I was not sorry.

I was just being a mom.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

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